Hope In Garnet Hair
by Silver Orbed Lioness
Summary: Written for the International Schools Competition: It is Christmas 1681 and the Dark Lady people call The Whisperer is out to get Harry Prince - his Ravenclaw friend Hermione gives him a riddle to solve. With the help of his betrothed, Ginny Weasley, they figure out exactly what is needed to destroy her - but at what cost?


**AN:** Like my Judges Pick, this story takes place in 1681. The Dark Lady is quite interesting to me, and I may expand on her later. Harry is Severus Prince and Lily Evans son. Both surnames have welsh origins, which explains the setting. Princes Priory, the family seat, is in Anglesey, Hufflepuff's Ghost is a monk so it stands to reason wizard monks had places they remained in.

I was going to have the resurrection stone as a third prompt but felt I did not utilise it enough to be in the story. That was due to word count.

I would like to thank **Charbo** and **Ninjamomma** for beta'ing this for me.

The main prompt is emboldened, it is my way of showing the reader what the main prompt is. The pairing is **HINNY**, but not as you know it.

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**HOPE IN GARNET HAIR**

Story Title/Link: **Hope In Garnet Hair**

School: **Hogwarts**

Theme: **Slytherin Harry AU**

Prompts: (**9) Red {colour};** (10) Snowing {weather}

Year: **6th**

Word Count: **3,298**

**Hope In Garnet Hair**

**Daily Prophet**

**By line: Kirk F Offal**

**October 31****st**** 1681**

_Remember this day, for it is important to, and inherent in this story as a spectacular event for the like of which is never to occur again in our lifetimes. This date, my dear readers, are forbidden to be struck from records. For though something tragic has befallen our kind – such a foul stench from the Devil's cesspit – has struck two young healthy happy people down in their prime._

_They are outlived by his mother, her sister, and their baby son. Harry Prince is a name to be revered and respected from hence onwards, the name is to be shouted from the rooftops. Celebrations and festivities are to crop up around the land. We at the Daily Prophet can finally confirm with all honesty, truth and joy that the Dark Lady: Chuchotementpeurdelamort who, apparently was a student in the early part of this century where she grew with the threat of the dunking stalls, still with us I am afraid._

_Why would Dark Lady Chuchotementpeurdelamort want to kill the Princes?_

_Our sources reveal that she had long wished for the couple to understand her viewpoint, and those of her ancestor's, to rid the world of the muggle scum harming their life at any second. She was a rather charming witch, and many bore her mark. A red rose that ages and withers in the sky above the homes of those she killed in her gruesome games to prove her point, also marked her followers. Our Auror's are searching the homes, villages, hovels and harbours to find the degenerative bilge on Magical life._

_Thankfully, Severus Prince and his wife Lily Prince – née Evans – were far too sensible to fall to her whims. Sadly, they paid their debt to that horrific choice in their death._

_The son has somehow survived the cruellest curse known to man: Dolorem morte occubuit- It's chilling meaning I shall not go into here – it is an __**unforgivable**__, of which only three are allowed at a time as some spells do fade with time's journey. If this one is dark, I do not think the ones that follow will help this world._

_Harry Prince, the world awaits in the stalls for how he will grow and shine in his unwelcomed role in life. Will he truly pass on the greatness his path has started him on? Will he follow through? What does the scar shaped like a rose freshly bloomed slightly off-centre mean? _

_How this may have to do with how he survived we do not know! Was it parental love? or magical strength? Or was it elemental magics? We may never truly know what happened on the tragically awesome events on this snowy night!_

Harry Prince was a happy baby. He'd a lovely, beautiful mother, and a clever, successful father. There was no reason for his life to be miserable again. He'd inherited his mother's emerald green eyes, his father's long raven dark hair; though it held his mother's lustrous shine. He'd also inherited his grandfather Evans's aquiline nose and his great-grandfather Prince's smirk. He had the best of both sides of his family.

That was seventeen years ago. Now he was in churchyard in a little Nottinghamshire village called Cotgrave, where _they_ were killed, a safe house for those against the Dark Lady. After kissing his parents cold snow speckled gravestone, he apparated to Anglesey with his betrothed, Ginevra Molly Weasley.

In his pocket held the key to the last of Chuchotementpeurdelamort . Luckily enough they were both Seekers and had an eye for small details. So, when his spies had told him that was where She Who Must Be Feared stood last, he and his affianced made it post haste to his deserted family seat.

An innocent twinkle put a sparkling garnet fountain in their sights, both gasped at the ornate item. Beautifully it glittered in the centre of the grounds half-way from the gate-way to the front door.

Prince's Priory was frozen in time. He winced when he felt its pinch, as if winter manifested and sunk icy fingers into his skin. He made sure to wrap his woollen robe around him more. It was the last thing he'd had of his father, and he cherished it for more than just the warmth. His father had worn it daily. This cloak had saved him in his worst times, charmed to deflect fatal hexes and jinxes.

He wished, however, that it also acted as a guide to the Resurrection Stone. Reportedly, the only item that could destroy she-who-whispers a deadly curse into the ears of her victims as if to a lover. The more she killed the more power she'd received. She absorbed their souls, allowing her to stay young and beautiful forever.

That was the extent of her shameless desire to pursue the three most impossible things in life. She was clever, but not smart enough, not now she'd made the mistake of not leaving the garnet fountain alone. How could a stone make someone achieve the unachievable in the first place? Sadly, all it showed the holder was whom they'd lost in death.

At least, that's what his friend, Hermione, had said. Hermione was betrothed to his best friend in Slytherin, a Theodore Nott. They were both highly academic and had the strongest debates the school had ever seen. Ginny had organised and parlayed between the parents and presented the heart-struck couple with a contract on Hermione's birthday.

Both parties blushed and… Harry shook his head. As much as he loved his Ravenclaw Heart Sister, and his Slytherin comrade in arms, he could not allow The Notts forthcoming nuptials to ruin this moment. Ginny had knelt down, leaving an imprint in the sludgy unmelted snow.

"What had Hermione said exactly."

"I don't comprehend this strange letter at all," he sighed as he fumbled about his pockets for the now dog eared note he'd read a thousand times. Strategy was Ron's and Ginny's suit, working out riddles and patterns was Hermione's suit and his was fighting. She'd sent him the strangest one yet. "The girl's a bloody bluestocking."

"She's also your truest friend," Ginny pointed out sternly. Hermione had helped her and her other friend Luna out several times. Not one person can say evil oaths about Miss Granger in Miss Weasley's presence. "Read it out again."

"Harry,

I speak words of wisdom. I have to write this in secret puzzle. I had help from a boy who also wishes your success.

My first lies where the second resides

My third restores what once was lost to thee

My fourth is addictive and woe betides

Those who lingers long, for it costs their sanity

For though harmless it doth appear, it derides

I do confess the secret could fill you with dread

Beauty may appear on her face, a smile of charm

Remember, dear friend, a warning of blood shed

I portend that the foe dangerous be

Once my truth is unblocked for all to hear

For she may mock, chide and act scornfully

She will flirt with warm words, yet her mouth does sneer

I do thee a service and a favour

So respond in kindness without jesting

At the day you become the saviour

That you may show her strength testing

So my sweet boy whom I adore

Love can kill just as a sword

Matters of the heart is not her suit

Just remember to whisper the words…"

Then she stops, like she was about to give away the final piece. Honestly," Harry spun on his heel, due to the snow however he almost collapsed in a big softly, wet, sludgy heap. Once Ginny had steadied him he continued by nervously running his fingers through his sodden hair. "What am I supposed to do with this? It must have a meaning. I have to help the world, avenge my parents, and make sure everyone doesn't think I'm dark by doing so."

"I know my darling. Also, how could anyone accuse you of being dark. It's not like you're Malfoy Jr. Hmm," she said nibbling her fingernails. Then she glanced at the house. "Let's get inside as it's freezing out here."

"Good idea."

They squelched through the snow up to the front door where a house-elf took one look at the young lad and fell to his knees: "Master has come home! Pipsy being pleased to see Master return with Mistress."

"Do _not_ tell Hermione," Ginny whispered.

"No," Harry smirked as Pipsy took their snow covered cowls.

They quickly shook off the remaining white spots from their hair. Immediately what looked like a dead house now sprung to life in front of their eyes as sconces were lit. Fires started in the main rooms. Drinks and food was prepared. Portraits were dusted and a lot of them were pleased to be able to see through clear glass once again. Staircases were swept and the wood polished. Harry felt guilty as he watched these little creatures work. He felt somewhat like Hermione did, that it was not fair to the intelligent, hard-working creatures.

Moments later they were drinking cups of hot mulled wine in the drawing room and ate bread and butter, scones, and cakes. The two were sat on the loveseat, Ginny's head resting on Harry's shoulder. Harry turned and kissed the top of her head as he embraced her with one arm. Suddenly a ginger cat leapt up and purred loudly, not budging from the frustrated young man's lap.

"It be Crookshanks, the late mistress cat."

"Thank you," Harry said absent-mindedly stroking the purring cat on his lap. "That girl is _infuriating_," Ginny giggled in his embrace. "Not all of us are Literates like she is."

"No, but in this holds a key to destroying your parent's murderer."

The squall thickened to copious whorls of flakes, twisting and twirling, almost like dancers in the King's court. Their performance entranced the two innocent lovers as they continued to observe the hypnotic flurries. Hermione's puzzle lay in the back pocket. Harry heard the crackle of parchment as he sat back on the scruffy crimson and mahogany chaise lounge. With a hefty sigh he dragged out the missive and held it out in front of Ginny's face as she slipped on her back resting her head on his lap.

The copper and burgundy wine tones shone in the flickering flames of the orange and red fire blazing in the hearth. A stark contrast to the bleak seasonal death that was whistling against the gaps in the doors. Ginny's ruby heart-shaped lips were pursed as she contemplated the first verse of their friend's conundrum.

_My first lies where the second resides_

_Hmm, _Harry thought, _my first lies where… _So, the first could be… _Second resides. _Second resides is the home. What they need lies in this home.

_My third restores what once was lost to thee_

_My third… _restores, rejuvenates, reborn… "Resurrects," Ginny sighed as she nuzzled into him, making him feel manly.

"What was that, sweetheart?"

"Resurrects, _restores what once was lost to thee_."

"That could easily be the word found."

"Hermione would have it as resurrects."

"I suppose," Harry acquiesced.

_My fourth is addictive and woe betides_

_Those who lingers long, for it costs their sanity_

"What on earth can that mean?"

_For though harmless it doth appear, it derides_

_I do confess the secret could fill you with dread_

_Beauty may appear on her face, a smile of charm_

_Remember, dear friend, a warning of blood shed_

"The second verse should answer it," Ginny sat up again yawning as she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and elegantly rose up to pace the floor. "Dark Arts. All the dark arts taint the soul – The Whisperer is good at that. Tainting innocent souls."

"Hmm, whatever we are looking for is a dangerous artefact related to death."

_I portend that the foe dangerous be_

_Once my truth is unblocked for all to hear_

_For she may mock, chide and act scornfully_

_She will flirt with warm words, yet her mouth does sneer_

"Jealousy," Harry immediately stated. "I know that one because it was what I saw in my dreams when I thought you and Michael Corner were betrothed."

"I also saw a vision of a sneering but beautiful woman with dark hair when I thought you and Cho were affianced," Ginny said. Harry watched her tread on the frayed Persian carpets. "The manor needs to be brought back to life."

"All _Princes Priory_ needs is a little loving care," Harry said gazing around. "My ancestors were fond of red, considering they were Slytherins."

"Perhaps your mother decorated…"

"No, the furnishings are too old, decayed, and threadbare for this to be the result of 17 years loneliness."

It was often a thought that magical buildings needed their human owners to feel better. All the spells, cantrips, incantations, chants, hexes, and jinxes seeped into the fabric and fibre of the building that lent it, its own brain. The more powerful the owners the darker the decay when they were left uncared for. Even house elves could not rejuvenate a magical building when it was their job to keep it in a good state.

"So whatever we have to find may cause the Whisperer jealousy for it truthfully is mine."

"Something that restores something to you that would make her jealous," Ginny muttered, "read the next part?"

Snow began settling on the ledges, amongst the evergreens. A gorgeous yet grotesque contrast against the bright red holly berries and the dark emerald green leaves.

_I do thee a service and a favour_

_So respond in kindness without jesting_

_At the day you become the saviour_

_That you may show her strength testing_

"Respond in kindness without jesting?" Ginny giggled. "Something tells me that was _her_ line."

"Probably," Harry smiled slightly.

"What's it mean?"

"The muggles have a saying about trapping flies with honey, perhaps it means I have to pretend to flirt with her… that's why she cautioned on her words of flattery."

The fire spat and cracked through the silence. The same time a huge gust of wind brought along with it a mini blizzard, the flakes had settled and looked to be spreading further up the windows as they watched, awed by how well-timed their hasty retreat had been. Fortuitous some would call it. There was only another verse left, dogged determination and the lack of will to sleep without having solved the puzzle drove them on.

"So red, what do we do?"

"I wish you wouldn't call me that!"

"Princes are notoriously attracted to red-haired Gryffindor's. Rumour has it my uncle wanted to marry your mother."

"I am inordinately grateful he did not succeed."

Harry smirked at his gorgeous bride-to-be. With a rueful look at the snow-studded panes of glass he sighed: "Let us have a summer wedding, please?"

"Why?"

"So I can see you blush charming and red as a freshly ripened apple, so that I can see you outshine the great luminary itself, so that your hair will show all your shades of passion. For I do love your burnished copper locks, how some glint the colour of rubies twinkling in the sun. I adore the deep mahoganies that pepper your neck and are predominant when you play Quidditch. Most of all, I wish to see your dark ebon eyes sparkle like the core of the centre of the sun. You," he stood up slowly swaying serpentine towards his now panting lover, "are my own darling Phoenix, for you rose from the ashes in the Chamber where now the beast of Slytherin lies dead – and have grown to be this magnificent example of witchkind. You are beautiful," he stroked Ginny's face with the back of his bent fingers. His thumb trailed over the smooth silk of her parted lips. "I adore you my love!"

Before he second guessed himself, Harry tilted her chin up, and pressed his lips to hers, slowly sucking in her lower lip, nibbling the soft flesh between his teeth. Threading his hands through her luscious locks that he adored more than life itself. For was red not the colour of passion, love, and blood and who could survive without any of those three qualities?

They were cinched in Eros embrace, writhing against the wooden panels of the home. It was Ginny that stopped their kissing practice.

"I've worked out what Hermione meant by her long-winded but clever riddle!"

Panting for breath, Harry kept his forehead against hers – neither were able to see the rose bloom – a sure sign the Whisperer was near.

"What have you worked my own genius heart?"

Hot breaths mixed together between them, little wisps writing their own love sonnets.

"It is in the next verse," she pushed Harry aside and picked up the parchment that had now drifted onto the floor dangerously close to the flame. "See…"

_So my sweet boy whom I adore_

"_**Love can kill just as a sword!"**_

"So?"

"You killed the basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor. What else was destroyed that day with basilisk venom?"

"Her hateful scrolls."

"Precisely," Ginny said triumph gleaming from her eyes, shining from her rust coloured cheeks. "The next two lines speak of matters of the heart not being her strong quality. Just whisper…" she paled and her hands trembled. "The words," she gulped as it finally occurred to her, thankful her mother taught her how to avoid love cantrips and potions…

"Ginny, what words do I have to whisper?"

Harry watched as, what once were a few flurries of cold icy flakes, become steep hills of glistening white. In the morning, at least North Wales, would be covered in snow.

"I can't say for they must only be uttered once and to her," she mumbled, "I can write them down. You must carry the instructions through carefully."

Months later, Harry held the resurrection stone that was in the centre-piece of the garnet fountain. Using it to call upon his mother who had offered him encouragement the night before his wedding. He stood behind the raven haired beauty who'd held an ugly spiteful sneer across her face.

"I love you, Harry," the woman spoke clearly allowing her soft voice to work its magic on him. "So glad you could see sense when your father could not."

"_Amor et tuere me_," Harry whispered lovingly in her ear as he roughly turned her around and speared Gryffindor's sword inside her heartless body.

Black essence poured from every orifice as she gasped and stumbled. Vicious red lips were set in a ghostly white visage, long dark hair had turned grey. Horror-stricken, he watched as jet hued fluid spewed down her mouth. "Odi omnibus! Maledictus vir coniuges Principis Imago Dei fratrum amorem veri, a nunc et in omnia saecula solum vivere homines!" _I hate all men! I curse the wives of the brothers of Harry Prince's true love, henceforth, to only live with men forevermore!_ Splattering it all over his transfigured robes. This odious hag destroyed many lives in the pursuit of beauty. Garnet rings dimmed on spindly dried up shrivelled fingers.

It was many generations before Weasleys were, once again, able to bear witches. 400 YEARS! August 1981 a girl of such power and strength entered the world in a slew of red, a thick coppery head of hair, and an already prominent cupids bow that looked slick with blood.

"Here you go, Mrs Weasley, your eighth child."

"Last child, if I've anything to say about it!"

Ginevra Weasley happily suckled on her mother's teat, unaware that the world would once again rely on her and another Harry to kill another loveless megalomaniac. Another Hermione, another Ron…

Another time to hope in garnet hair!

Another story.

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**AN:** I always wanted to explore a possible reason as to how the Weasley's were unable to produce daughters until Ginny came along and why she was given a Roman name and not an Saxon or Viking name like her brothers. I also love the idea that they were cursed and Molly, determined to break it, continued having children until she'd had a daughter.


End file.
